The Ipwang Fortress delegation followed Cheong Bohwa into the fortress of greenery. Only Jeong Yeon-shin walked beside her.
She had scrutinized him for quite some time with her Myeong Clan’s Dark Vision before tacitly allowing him at her side.
“I could have sent you away immediately, but in any case, welcome.”
Cheonju Gate.
It was said to be both a sect and a village.
Just as rumored, it was immensely vast.
The sect seemed to encompass the entirety of the sprawling mountain range, and the land stretched endlessly, exuding an ethereal aura.
Even in the dead of winter, the leaves shimmered with a deep green vibrance, carrying a dreamlike texture.
Had they not been high-ranking figures from Ipwang Fortress, they would not have been allowed to set foot here.
A spell formation.
Jeong Yeon-shin felt the mystical energy prickling against his skin, sweeping his gaze around. The vast mountain breeze shimmered faintly like a translucent veil.
The leaves of the ancient trees surrounding them flickered in and out of focus—a breathtaking sight.
It was akin to the Blood Flame Sect’s Twofold Blood Ghost Formation, which had concealed their headquarters.
The effect was even denser than what he had sensed at the mountain’s entrance. Finding this place would be nearly impossible.
Even Gaebang and Hao Clan had failed to gather any significant intelligence on Cheonju Gate.
He slowly parted his lips.
“You mentioned Amya Warband is scouring this mountain. Is that true?”
“It always has been.”
The Gate Master of Cheonju, Cheong Bohwa, answered.
Her steps were so light that she seemed to be floating above the blades of grass.
Even as her great-grandson Cheongmyeong followed behind, she never once looked back.
Cheongmyeong, unconcerned, laced his hands behind his head.
His flowing blue sleeves barely concealed the thick veins that pulsed beneath his skin—the unmistakable mark of a seasoned swordsman.
“A sparring match to test your unique martial art, huh...? If it weren’t you, I wouldn’t believe it. Since we’ve come all this way, we might as well cross the lake.
“But I wonder if our fledglings can manage.”
Shin So-bin blinked her long lashes.
“The lake? Why?”
“My little brother is there. Cheongsu, his name was. Unlike our Great Lord, he was full of life. Though, come to think of it, they were both quite sentimental.”
“...Huh? I never heard that Senior Swordmaster had a younger sibling.”
“A grave, not a person.”
Cheongmyeong’s voice was calm.
“It’s been about ten years. He was taken down during a reconnaissance mission—by an Amya Warband archery technique.
“They call it Ten-League One-Kill. The trajectory of the strike is near impossible to track. So fast that no one ever caught the culprit.”
“...Ah.”
Shin So-bin fell silent.
Jeong Yeon-shin, who had been walking ahead, spoke in a deliberately even tone.
“Who was it? The assassin. They must have been a supreme master.”
“Tch. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
Cheongmyeong clicked his tongue.
“The Great Lord’s eyes just sharpened... So that means the killer is still alive.”
He offered no further details.
Instead, his gaze briefly flicked toward the back of his great-grandmother Cheong Bohwa before falling silent.
It was a matter of blood ties—forcing an answer would be in poor taste.
Was the title ‘Azure Eye Sword’ born from a blade sharpened by vengeance?
The Ipwang Fortress’s blue-clad masters frequently took independent assignments.
Perhaps he had spent his years wandering the martial world, honing his swordsmanship against the Amya Warband’s infamous assassins.
For the first time, Jeong Yeon-shin caught a glimpse of the senior swordsman’s inner world—one not just shrouded in mystery but steeped in unspoken grief.
He suddenly realized—this stay would not be peaceful.
His muscles and meridians, already burdened by fatigue, felt even heavier.
“Gate Master Cheong, I am curious as to why you did not seek Ipwang Fortress’s assistance.”
He asked.
The aged Myeong Clan elder, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke.
“Accepting aid from those who have diluted the purity of our bloodline? That is unacceptable.
“The ties between us and Ipwang Fortress have grown thinner by the year.
“Each generation, it becomes harder to see traces of our clan in them.”
Her voice carried the weight of deep-seated resentment.
There was force behind every word.
“The Fortress Lord no longer creates new martial arts.
“And the clans who settled on foreign soil no longer forge their own path—they merely refine the remnants of the Han Chinese’s old techniques.
“The very ones that once trampled upon powerless clans during the founding of this dynasty.”
“You place great significance in martial arts, I see.”
To Jeong Yeon-shin, it was not a sentiment he deeply resonated with.
For him, martial arts were merely a means of survival.
Even if his superior meridian system allowed him to enjoy combat, its purpose remained unchanged.
Cheong Bohwa let out a quiet chuckle.
“And beyond that—does Ipwang Fortress not lack manpower?”
She turned her gaze to Singeom Danju resting in the palanquin.
“If even the Danju has fallen to such a state, I can already guess what shape your faction is in.
“The once-mighty Seventeen Generations of Singeom Dan are dwindling.
“Surely, that is why you have come to our gates—to hasten his recovery.
“As well as your own.”
Then, she turned her gaze to Jeong Yeon-shin.
Despite her towering stature, her presence felt like an old, weathered tree—unyielding yet deeply rooted in history.
Her profound qi shimmered in her eyes, though it did not feel purely domineering.
The master of an ancient Myeong Clan sect is like an ancient tree.
In her piercing blue eyes, Jeong Yeon-shin glimpsed a storm of old wounds—a whirlwind of scars, barely holding together.
Ordinary martial mastery will not be enough to impress her.
Ma Gwang-ik’s Great Lord thought to himself.
Would the martial arts he had crafted be enough to surpass the expectations of Cheonju Gate?
While the Great Lord pondered, behind him, the youthful energy of Shin So-bin and Hyeon Won-chang felt particularly lively in contrast.
Now, he was faced with two pressing tasks—recovery and dealing with the Amya Warband.
***
“Master, Cheonju Gate has opened its doors.”
“Have you traced the earth veins?”
“Yes. We estimate they can be located within the near future.”
“Prepare the Heavenly Thunder Archery Corps. We strike when they emerge again.”
“Master, if we act hastily, Ipwang Fortress may take notice.”
“Famine. Turmoil. These are the times when their intelligence is at its weakest.”
“...My concerns were misplaced.”
“Good. Now, tell me—what allowed them to wield the Seventeen Generations of Singeom Dan so effortlessly all this time?
“It was because they relied not on mere beggars or lowly informants but on the networks of the bureaucratic offices.
“The vast network of official waystations spanning across the entire world.”
“......”
“But during a famine, even the noblest officials are no longer immune to threats and bribes from local sects.
“Honest and incorruptible magistrates only exist in times of prosperity.
“In recent years, Ipwang Fortress has been no better than a blind swordsman.
“They are aware of this weakness, which is why they have begun wielding their Seventeen Swords like reckless butchers—nothing but an overgrown beast.”
“Cheonju Gate only ever opens its doors to Ipwang Fortress. There is a chance that the Singeom Danju, battered and broken, has been transported there.
“And if so, he may be accompanied by a Great Lord-level escort...”
“You are thinking of Ma Gwang-ikju.”
“If that is the case, we must be even more cautious in our approach.
“Countless supreme masters have fallen to Ma Gwang-ikju in this generation.
“In Sichuan and Shaanxi, it is common to hear him described as a demon of unmatched might who defies the natural order.”
“I have heard it as well.
“A man who crafts his own sacred techniques, unbound by any tradition.
“Even Ghostblade Divine Sword and Shaanxi’s Greatest Demon could not overcome his opposing energies and perished.”
“We must also consider the site where Lady Yeoryeong met her demise.
“He slew the former Chief Guardian and Lord of the Beast King Sect in a single confrontation.
“Even held a triumphant procession in Yangyang to flaunt his feat.
“Judging by his past actions, his arrogance is not a flaw—it is what makes him a true supreme master.”
“Prepare the Thunder Blossom Bow Formation.
“If we build up our qi for at least ten days, I shall channel it myself—
“And unleash Ten-League One-Kill upon him.”
***
The midday sun was blinding.
Sunlight seeped quietly into the vast garden, surrounded like fortress walls by towering ancient trees, casting a deep green glow over the area.
Silence reigned. Despite the many figures present, no one spoke.
Thirty warriors of Cheonju Gate.
Not a single one of them was weak.
Some stood high on thick branches, arms crossed or hands behind their backs. Others leaned against the trunks at a steep angle, forcing those below to crane their necks to see them. Among them were boys and girls perched on tree limbs, their posture as effortless as if they were part of the forest itself.
Their silk robes, dyed in rich, varying hues, spoke of a deep mastery in sericulture. They were as refined as their ears—razor-sharp, like the edge of a divine blade.
There was something ethereal about them. Each warrior carried an aura that rippled like the wind, making the edges of their garments constantly flutter.
Yet, not a single word was spoken.
They simply stared, quietly observing the Ipwang Fortress delegation as if they already understood the situation in full.
Only the distant murmur of the valley’s waters and the rustling of grass in the wind dared to break the silence.
“Put it down and step forward.”
At Jeong Yeon-shin's command, Tae Yeom-ryong wasted no time. He let go of the handles and left the sedan chair where Singeom Danju rested.
Heon Won-chang, who had been holding the rear, followed suit.
From within the sedan, faint snoring could still be heard. The legendary Violet Swordsman, one of the greatest masters in the world, remained utterly undisturbed.
“Told you. He trusts the Grand Lord completely.”
Leaning in close, Shin So-bin whispered into Yeon-shin's ear.
The tips of her long, braided hair brushed against his forearm, tickling him slightly. Yeon-shin flinched—not from discomfort, but from something closer to envy.
‘Ah. Must be nice to be young.’
He silently counted the remaining years of his lifespan—just a little over two.
“So-bin. You’ll go first.”
At his words, her clear eyes widened slightly as she looked up at him.
“...I figured as much. What should I show them?”
“Whatever you want.”
The Grand Lord gave his decree.
With a sharp hah!, Shin So-bin let out a spirited cry and strode forward.
The midday sun cascaded over her flowing black hair, and as she stepped onto the grass, faint ripples of heat shimmered around her feet—the unmistakable sign of Phantom Wing Steps.
She was the direct inheritor of Yeon-shin's martial lineage.
A natural-born fighter, she seamlessly wielded different techniques of Seom-ye depending on the moment.
Ma Gwang-gyeol—a form specialized for striking at the opponent’s gaps—was reserved only for decisive moments, as she had the instinct to understand that in a life-or-death duel, precision was paramount.
Gwang-ye Gyeol—a sweeping, collective technique—was reserved for group battles. And she had the talent to make that distinction.
“The era of Great Masters is fading.”
Several warriors from Cheonju Gate stepped forward, with Cheong Bohwa at the center.
“Bodhidharma. Zhang Sanfeng. Heavenly Demon...”
Her voice was slow, deliberate.
“The old ways are venerated, yet the new ways are ridiculed and scorned. It has been this way since the founding of the empire. The martial arts of our ancestors were used to violate our people—to claim our lineage as their own. Regardless of gender.”
She continued, unwavering.
“And so, we chose to reject the old martial paths. We turned away from their knowledge, from their legacy. A decision made long ago.”
“There are many contradictions in that philosophy.”
Standing still, Yeon-shin pointed it out plainly.
Cheong Bohwa nodded.
“All that remains now is pride and martial prowess. But even that is part of our tradition.
“If a Great Master like yourself finds us disagreeable, then let your martial arts rip apart our understanding—show us a new world.”
She raised a wrinkled hand and pointed beyond.
“There. That is the greatest trunk of Cheonhamok. The Pillar of the Heavens. A sacred tree.”
Earlier, Jeong Nan-song had referred to it as a divine pillar.
He had not been exaggerating.
Yeon-shin suddenly realized something, a revelation so shocking it made his vision momentarily go white.
Until now, he had mistaken it for the sky.
But the vast expanse above—so massive it filled his entire field of vision—was, in fact, a tree.
Its trunk was so enormous, so impossibly wide, that it stretched endlessly, enveloping the entire valley in its shade.
Its bark was not brown but translucent, distorting light in a way that made it blend seamlessly with the sky.
“Focus on the martial arts, not the person. Judge the skill itself.”
Cheong Bohwa took a few steps back.
Then Jeong Nan-song stepped forward.
A swordsman with long, dark green hair cascading past his shoulders.
His piercing blue eyes did not settle on Shin So-bin.
Instead, he locked gazes with Yeon-shin.
“You are the superior of that exile.”
“That’s right.”
With his arms crossed, Yeon-shin answered plainly.
For a fleeting moment, something cold flashed in Jeong Nan-song's gaze.
“You harbor a dangerous sword.”
“That Cheongmyeong of yours... He is so sharp that he cuts even the bonds of trust between men.
“For a long time, I have trained to break his blade, yet even now, I lack the confidence to do so.”
“I see.”
“I shall gauge you through this girl’s martial arts.
“True solitary arts hold much more than mere technique—they reflect the heart and mind of their creator.
“Our clan does not see as you Han people do.”
“I can already tell your martial prowess is extraordinary.
“The intricate layers of Anbeop Qi woven into your body... the way your balance originates from your Yongcheon Acupoint... You have honed yourself into a blade.
“A remarkable level of will.”
There was something almost admiring in Yeon-shin's tone.
It was thanks to his nephew.
By learning to show compassion for the weak, he had come to appreciate the struggles of those beneath him.
And in that moment, it struck him—this man was like a talking monkey.
To wield Qi with such crude control, yet refine himself to this degree...
“A-ah... I appreciate the words.”
For the first time, Jeong Nan-song averted his gaze and hesitated.
A cool breeze swept through the clearing.
It carried the faintest ripple of Qi, stirred by the presence of Ma Gwang-ikju.
The atmosphere grew just a little warmer.
With that, the duel was set.
“Begin.”
At Cheong Bohwa's voice, Shin So-bin narrowed her eyes and took her stance.
She stomped the ground.
Boom!
A powerful shockwave rippled outward.
Blades of grass scattered into the air, caught in the violent turbulence of her Qi.
A whirlwind erupted around her as she launched forward.
Her tightly woven braid unraveled, her midnight-black hair flowing wildly behind her.
Jeong Nan-song never even had time to raise his sword.
His brows twitched—then bam!
A white-knuckled fist struck his solar plexus.
The sheer force sent him hurtling backward.
Grass and soil were shredded apart in the resulting shockwave.
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His body slammed into the ground with a heavy thud.
And then... silence.
It had taken just one move.